


Dark Heart, Bright Lightning

by Elane_in_the_Shadows



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Ending, Betrayal, F/M, King's Cage, M/M, Post War Storm, Red Queen - Freeform, War Storm, War Storm Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elane_in_the_Shadows/pseuds/Elane_in_the_Shadows
Summary: WAR STORM SPOILERSMaven Calore is not dead. But whether he'll accept his fate, now living truly in the shadow of the brother pretending he died, he doesn't know himself.





	1. Chances

**His radio hummed** , stopping his wanderings through the endless corridors of Whitefire Palace. “Jacos? Do you hear me?” the voice from the radio said.

“Yes,” Julian confirmed a few seconds later, after he finally found a grip on the gadget.

“Are you still chasing Lady Viper?” the voice asked. He didn’t recognize it, it didn’t belong to someone he knew well and the static noise disturbed any hints toward its owner. “Abandon her. Find Barrow.” The voice paused. “She went into Whitefire to hunt Maven Calore. Find both of them and call us back.”

His hand with the radio dropped.

“Jacos?!” the voice urged.

“I see,” he replied hastily, and tucked the radio back to his belt, opposite the gun he carried and didn’t dare to touch.

* * *

**Julian thought he**  came to late when he found them, both bleeding on the floor as if their confrontation could only have ended by destroying each other. Even their wounds seemed to mirror each other for a moment, red and silver blood running out of abdominal slashes. Then he noticed the marks on Mare’s throat.

He felt so, so sick of it all. He’d thought himself a player in this game, a hidden power in this war, but when it came down to its raw brutality, he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t lose Mare, who’d just returned to offer cooperation along with the Scarlet Guard, to support Cal in his abdication. But this little, vile monster had –

The dread boy opened his eyes, full of ice, and in turn, Julian’s hesitation melted. Of course  _he_  had to survive. Julian entered and ran to Mare, to shield her, check on her, possibly save her life, but his urge was dimmed by the drowning might of silent stone.

He gulped, slowed, but went on nonetheless, until he reached Mare and could feel her pulse – thank his colours – and press a palm over the gash in her side.

Maven didn’t take his eyes off them. He coughed and took a long time to move a hand over his own wound. An injured hand, Julian noticed. The other, his left, stayed on the ground, only a few centimeters away from a spiky letter opener.

“Jacos,” he carked. “You like it here? Losing your mind control powers?”

He said nothing, grinded his teeth.

“Now it’s only your very human power of persuasion against mine,” Maven said.

“You have nothing, Maven Calore,” Julian hissed. “You’ve lost it all.” He considered his options. Maven was helpless, no problem for long, although he seemed used to the silent stone. If Julian used the radio, Mare would get the help she needed and Maven would be dealt with for good. He realized he could finish it here and now with his gun, but the weapon continued to abhor him. He wouldn’t kill another person today, not after he’d already committed the most abominable deed he was able to. Using his voice to command someone to die … he felt dirty for letting it come to that, no matter how necessary it was.

He concentrated on Mare again, on keeping her alive.  _Please_.

Suddenly, Maven held the letter opener in his hand, awkwardly so. “Don’t move,” he hissed. “You’ll leave me here,” he demanded. Threatened. But he didn’t point the surprisingly sharp end at Julian, or at Mare. It was pointed at Maven’s own throat. “You don’t call your petty friends only to execute me either way. I will die in here.” Even ragged, exhausted and fatally injured, Maven’s words sounded commanding. There was truth he what the boy had said before, that this was a duel of words. But in the end, his body betrayed him, denied his conviction. His hand was shivering, maybe from pain, the blade turned askew. His threat remained a show, even now.

“Why haven’t you done it already?” Julian sneered, and rued it. He didn’t want to get involved in it another death, coward that he was, and urging to person to suicide was heartless and despicable.

Maven blinked, and gasped. “There’s peace,” he murmured, “in here. It’s quiet, and I want to …”

“To live?” Julian wondered, and saw the answer in Maven’s painfully longing eyes.

_Yes, who wants to really kill themself, when it comes down to it …_

“Finally, I don’t give in to her,” Maven whispered. “Finally, she’s silent, I’m alone in my head …”

Julian froze. Not believing what he heard. Disbelieving he’d been blind for so long.

The boy chose to bury himself in this silent stone room, today and long before. Preferred to give up his ability, the symbol of the royal family, to achieve …mental quietness, freedom, peace.

It pained him to see this, to realize who he was reminded of. Coriane. His sister, whom he’d failed, who had to fight the witch queen in her own head, who’d never liked her powers and hoped on Rane Arven to protect her, only to be betrayed and become a victim of murder by Elara Merandus.

This boy hadn’t relied on a person like Arven, but hoped on their silent stone still, he who was formed and taken apart by Elara as much as Cori - or worse.

Julian lifted his radio. “I’ll call for help now,” he announced calmly, his voice still sounding melodious. “Stay quiet. I’ll offer you a chance, Maven Calore, if you’re willing to accept it.”

Julian didn’t know whether Maven was worth this, and the deceptions it would cause in the future. But, he had to admit, he’d grown used to them, having lied to, schemed, mind-controlled – and disappointed – many people in the last months, to reach this stage with change on the horizon. He’d accept this challenge too, for Cal’s sake as well.

He’d give Maven the chance Coriane never received.


	2. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains War Storm Spoilers

**Maven POV**

If I hadn’t smelled its numbing presence, I’d see the silent stone’s might in the way it changed my gaoler’s gait the deeper we went into the Bowl of Bones. Her determined strides soon switched into careful, shorter steps, the loss in tempo not going unnoticed by her companions either. So far, it was only a foreboding, an inkling; even I with my delusional amount of powers could sense that. But give me a match and this building would still burn. Not that I harboured such plans, since there had to be only a greater force of watchmen waiting closely, and for now, I entertained the advantages of letting them underestimate me.  

It was almost funny. My former sentinel Cassie Griffey escorting me – secretly – into confinement, accompanied only by two Reds. They carried guns, but they wouldn’t fire with them, lest I could use their sparks upon ignition. And _she_ wasn’t even wearing a uniform, only very casual, close to inappropriate, clothes while she finally revealed her traitorous alliance to the dreadful Scarlet Guard. I wondered if her rebel friends were aware of my survival, or whether the sentinel was deceiving them already.

“This is an experiment, Calore,” she said over her shoulder. Not for the first time, like she actually cared about reassuring me. “This was a temporary holding facility, not a prison …”

As if I didn’t know that. If the Bowl of Bones hadn’t been seen as a prison, it had been because it contained death cells exclusively.

“… thus, we’ve merely furnished a … lodging for you, for the duration of your stay.”

Oh, what delightful euphemisms she offered me. “Of course,” I replied drily, “why should _anyone_ be tempted to lock me up in this place forevermore?” I counted it as a victory that her next glance was neither decided disgust nor amusement, but something of both.

“An experiment,” she repeated and stopped in her tracks, her hand on a door. “because we’ll see how you’ll fare in here, and for how long.”

I tilted my head towards the cell destined for me; it contained a bed, a table with a chair, a shelf and toilet corner. And the gritting, unseelie, crushing, and comforting weight of silent stone.

Griffey tucked her now shoulder-length hair behind her ear – again. I’d noticed she did this quite often and revealed the new burn scar on her cheek with the motion, as if to call attention to it. But no, I realized now, she had to use her hands where usually her ability – telekinesis – served her. I remembered her parading me through Whitefire Palace in our past days her hair falling to hips, completely unperturbed by it.

Now she struggled with the lock of the cell door, another activity where she had to miss her ability. No lock was truly closed to a telkie, and she had opened the doors for me many times before, those which lead into great halls and lavish rooms instead of – _this_.

But the reason for her fumbling might as well be that her left hand lacked the last two fingers, leaving only burn-scarred stubs of her pinkie and ring fingers. On her middle finger, scared but whole, she wore a ring of rose-gold.

Finally, she was done and held the door open as if in invitation. I mused. Should I have them drag me in there? I took a deep breath, the last one in deceptive easiness but already smelling the silent stone, feeling it changing the rhythm of my throbbing pulse.

“If you please, Calore,” Griffey said.

“What, are you pretending I have a choice?” I scoffed.

She hesitated, possibly deciding a quick answer would seem like a lie. “Yes,” she said a split second later, but her waiting had turned it already into another kind of pretend.

I tipped on her scarred hand as I turned on my heel to step in. I provoked a mere twitch with the unforeseen touch, nor uncovered a fear of a burner’s touch or vicinity. Well, at least _she_ had chosen to be with me, I assumed, for whatever reason.

I immediately choked under the first onslaught on the silent stone; but only for a second. If Cal, if _Mare_ , had withstood this, so would I. I seated myself in the chair, crossed my legs and lounged, no worse for wear.

My gaoler’s eyes glided over the cell, inspecting it one more time while the Red companions stayed outside. I doubted that was necessary, but who knew with this Scarlet Guard? I still wasn’t convinced they weren’t all incompetent amateurs and fools in the roles they’d chosen. But Griffey made me nervous, and I wanted her gone, to be finally alone with myself and the heavenly silence in my head.

“How did you get that scar, Sentinel?” I asked.

She turned to me with a severe frown, not nearly as angry as I’d hoped she’d be. She crossed her arms. “A grenade from your lovely wife, Calore. You see, not only your kind can set things on fire.” She raised her eyebrows. “As you might’ve figured out, I have more scars of this kind down here.” She lifted her injured hand and indicated the left side of her torso, from shoulder to hip. My fingers went over my own ribcage, involuntarily, to the injury that had almost killed me.

I cleared my throat. “Is that so? Although the nymph bitch is neither lovely, nor my wife any longer, I’d assume. Surely non-consummation was enough for her to file an annulment.”

Griffey shrugged. Too bad, I would’ve liked an answer. “Did no healer see to your wounds?” I asked instead.

She seemed rather amused and cackled. “Oh, one did, but a very bad one.”

“And you’re going to let it stay that way?” I prodded.

_That_ pulled her down to earth. “I’m undecided. It is … I prefer not to erase the proofs and memories of the things I endured,” she said, and suddenly, I no longer played her, and she was playing _me_. The spark of satisfaction in her eyes told me as much, she’d only waited for a chance to drop a sentence like this, to feel me out, to get at me. For the first time in days, I wanted to feel and breath fire again.

That was impossible of course, by my own “choice”. Neither Julian Jacos nor Cal had granted me another audience in the weeks since Mare and I had almost killed each other and Cal had resigned the throne of Norta, but surely my accommodation here was based on the impression I’d left on them that day. Yet I came to understand this woman here acted on her own conclusions. I had to dismiss her more directly. “Is that all, Sentinel Griffey?” I sneered.

“That is not the correct way to address me, Calore,” she retorted.

“Oh? Neither is calling me ‘Calore’.”

“I won’t call you ‘your Highness’ or anything, which leaves only your first name or ‘Mr. Calore’ and I doubt you’d like either.”

I gave in and chuckled with affectation, then crossed my legs again. “Indeed. So what – “

“Lieutenant, as is my rank in the Scarlet Guard. Or ‘Mrs.’, if you prefer that. And my last name is Ives now.” She glared at me, demanding that I remember that. At least she was finally about to leave, but then she stopped on the threshold.

“I wonder, Maven Calore, why you always choose the offensive way to talk to people. Can you not do otherwise, as you enjoy to see the hurt on their faces? Or is chasing people away in this manner rather your preferred defense?” Her eyes were hard as steel, and she waited for an answer. I didn’t offer her one, but a part of me appreciated the gesture.

“Congratulations to your wedding,” I muttered.

She tilted her head. “I know you don’t mean that, given my husband is Red. So stop it,” she scoffed, but the happy bride she was couldn’t hide her smile as she went out and locked the door behind her.

_Traitor. Red’s Whore. Bastard_. I heard the slurs in the back of my mind. I knew it was impossible that Mother was whispering them to me while I felt the silent stone even in my blood and in every nerve ending. Its heavy power became a constant throb in my head, one I wasn’t sure would let me sleep this night. But if Mare had endured this for six months … I couldn’t back off like a coward. I’d take part in this “experiment”, as Griffey had called it. And I understood the slurs I’d thought about her weren’t caused by Mother’s voice but what I _knew_ she’d say about Griffey – Ives – and thus I’d anticipated and created her whispers myself.

 


	3. Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains War Storm spoilers

**Maven POV**

**So far, the** same two Reds assisted Cassie Griffey-Ives in the observation of me. Though they couldn’t be all who were here, certainly there were more guards in the arena. I asked about that the next time she came to visit.

“It’s unlikely someone would look for you in an unused arena,” Ives replied.

“Is that so? As Iris didn’t look for the Piedmont heirs in the Montfortan observatory?”

“It’s a matter of disguising your whereabouts and officially, you were burnt to ashes that currently rest in the treasure chamber of Whitefire. But don’t worry, you grave will soon be erected.”

“Now you got me curious.” Her morbid streak amused me.

She coughed. “Possibly, you could visit your grave in a few days, when … I mean, it’s scheduled in a few days …”

“What is?”

“Tiberias will … well, he and Anabel Lerolan. They’ll relocate – “

“Anabel! That’s about time she pulls away from the frontlines. I can’t believe your Scarlet Guard still allows that hag to stroll in the capital. You must know she wouldn’t let a chance to dismantle your efforts go to waste.”

“I suppose so.”

“Tell me, will my brother ever dare to visit me, too? Or am I stuck with you alone?”

She said nothing.

“How was his birthday, anyway? I forgot to send my regards, but, you know.” Although I’d threatened he’d never make it to his next birthday.

“As I heard, it was a private affair. I didn’t attend, as I had my own party.” She grinned. “I got married that day.”

“Ah, to that Red? I think I remember him. You couldn’t wait at all?”

“Indeed, Calore. Actually, the Scarlet Guard was happy to hear about our plans, the first official mixed marriage. They made a big thing of it, putting us in rich clothes, taking photos and having them printed in the papers.” She smiled dreamily and I left her to her romantic musings. Her rose-gold ring caught my eyes again, it had to be her wedding band. _Of course_. It was likely an alloy of silver and copper, what an obvious symbol of their union.

Only later I realized how she’d changed the topic and avoided to explain the meaning of _visit your grave_.

* * *

**“I don’t know** how you can eat in here,” Ives said. She shoved aside her fork and meal she’d brought into my abode as if to imply she liked to spend her personal lunch break with me. Should she suffer for her pretentiousness. I smirked wrily, but I was no stranger to that nausea myself; I was merely better at hiding and ignoring the constant sickness I suffered in this place and under the silent stone. Its weight was stronger in here, more massive and grave-like than the rooms I had lined with it in the palace.

Maybe she guessed that, as she threw me a commiserating glance. “How is it in general, Calore?” she inquired.

“Needing data and results for the ‘experiment’?” I said. “Could be better. It’s a little small in here.”

She inclined her head and I frowned. Who, please, was actually interested in my state, besides my gaoler? Couldn’t she tell me how this was supposed –

“I won’t come tomorrow,” she said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I just wanted to prepare you. However, are you still curious about your brother?”

I said nothing, remaining carefully still.

“He’ll leave on the 7th, that’s in three days.”

I gulped. “I know which day that is.”

Her gaze was understanding and pitying and I could’ve barfed. “Do you?” she whispered.

No answer.

She stood up. “When I return, I’ll ask you whether you want to continue the experiment or whether you’ll go with Tiberias,” she said and left me behind.

* * *

**I did not** miss her wretched company, I could do well on my own. I was granted a few books and days-old papers, what more did I need? Oh, it became harder to read every day, every night, but I wasn’t bored. It’d been only five days, something easy to manage. Not once did I hear my mother in my head apart from the memories I conjured myself. Yet, today, when no one had spoken to me, I wished she would. I wished someone cared about me, that Jacos and Cal hadn’t shown me only the most pitiful kind of mercy, by letting me live to just rot away out of their sight. Of course, I had done the same with Jacos, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

* * *

_Maven._

**The disembodied voice** tingled in my head. I knew only my imagination could have created it, yet I was unable to decide who it belonged to, who I wanted or dreaded to hear. Once again, I wanted to dream, so I might see Thomas and hear him call my name, in fraud memories not created by my thoughts. But that was an illusion. Dreams were the same as every thought, memory or reaction, and wouldn’t prove anything. They weren’t more sincere than any other part of my mind. Maybe it was better without them, as Mother had always insisted. Dreams are deceptions, only that she was the greatest deceiver of all.

Was I truly empty? Had Mother taken away all that made me _me_ , a person, as all of them said? Or was it the silent stone that addled my thoughts now, and deranged my mind?

**I craved sleep** , dark, dreamless sleep. I would like to sleep all day, because everything was so tiring.

**The light changed** ; it had to be night now. But I was still awake. I laid down and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I had no idea if I’d stayed awake or fallen asleep. Had the light changed again? No, I didn’t think so –

**I woke up and** choked. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. My throat ached, and even after I found water, after painstakingly searching it for several minutes, I could hardly swallow. I didn’t want to lift my head, didn’t want to bare my face, the one that belonged to a murderer, a failure, a pitiful waste of a person.

I wouldn’t demean myself by crying.

* * *

**The tears ran** down my cheek the morning of November 6 th, when the door opened again. Earlier than usual, as if someone had told my gaoler of my sorry state. At first, I felt a pat on my shoulder, then strokes on my back, once she’d sat down on the floor next to me. I was grateful for that.

For a while, she remained quiet, until I’d calmed myself. “Tiberias asked after you this morning,” she said eventually.

I snorted, disbelieving, although my pulse accelerated with sentiment. “And?” I groaned. “Does he want me to stay in here?”

“I told him that’s your decision.”

Then I cackled, my throat hurting with it. All the better. What reason did I have to live in freedom?

She waited. Still I didn’t know if her remarks about Cal weren’t white lies, nor whether I wanted to leave this place. It was a pain but one I’d learn to deal with, I was certain. And it worked. I was free of whispering voices, freer in a prison than when I wore a crown.

Did I want to risk that?

Cassandra Ives looked into my eyes and I read the doubts she harboured. _This_ wasn’t good for me, we were both aware of it. And the alternative was the opposite of what I tried here.

It was visiting my mother’s grave on her death anniversary and looking Cal in the face.

But if the other option was to let Maven Calore waste away like a coward, so I had to dare it.

Didn’t I?

 

 


	4. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains War Storm Spoilers

**Maven POV**

**They dragged me** out of my cell into some kind of locker room and let me sleep for a day. Next thing I knew, I woke and was urged to clean and shave – shaking, I insisted to do this by myself – and then was dressed up and styled and fettered. I could hardly focus on my face in the small mirror, a massive migraine combined with nausea and tiredness drowning me in place of the silent stone. Those weren’t new sensations, but more intense than before. So strange to feel worse without silent stone, and although I wasn’t sure if my face betrayed that, I looked horrible still.

Like in the cell, there was sweat on my skin, unusual for a burner. But I pulled myself together, trying my best to stop the shivering at least. I glanced over my shoulder, as haughty as possible. Ives leaned against the wall, eyeing the other jailers in a blend of threat and boredom. She cocked her head. “Done?” she asked.

I smiled, noticing how odd that looked from the corners of my eyes. I took a meaningful step away, the cue for the Arven jailer to shove me aside with a deceivingly soft insistence.

It had to be only a few minutes with the manacles and they already chafed me. They didn’t contain silent stone, only heavy metals I could melt down if I summoned enough heat. But I figured that would be futile, that I’d fail. My ability was mediocre at best, and the lingering weight of silence continued to press the power out of me. It was like a memory I could never erase. Maybe it would war with Mother’s voice in my head while I waited for the heavy, lead-like white noise to shift into the whispered words I’d grown familiar to.

It had been too much to hope for from the start, hadn’t it?

All I could wish for was for her voice to become indecipherable with time, although that was likely to only drive me closer to insanity.

On the threshold to the corridor, the Arven man pulled harshly on my manacles, making me flinch. Ives glared at him but I laughed. I just realized: the flamemaker bracelets I’d craved to get back were now replaced by fetters, and in this moment, I yearned for them even more. I almost hoped to catch a random spark – maybe by drumming the manacles against each other? – so I would feel the fire chase way the silent ache in my bones.

* * *

**Cassie Ives was** a traitor. I’d been aware of it, and accepted how she took insolent pride in that, for the sake of having her company instead of no one’s. But now she betrayed that paltry gift as well, when she told me goodbye on the airfield.

“I belong in the capital,” she said, her mismatched eyes adamant as she waited for me to enter the plane.

“Unlike me, you mean?” I snorted.

“Unlike you and the rest of your family,” she countered.

I almost smiled, although I didn’t feel amused at all. She was still abandoning me, like all of them, and I was still nauseous and weak, my mood dim. But I returned to what I always did and prepared myself for dealing with the new set of jailers and enemies and the brother I hadn’t seen yet. With as much posture I could muster, I spun on my heel. They couldn’t take faux pride from me.

* * *

**I’d never particularly** enjoyed flying and of course, this trip wasn’t improved by my current state. The hum of the plane roared as loud in my ears as the ocean beneath would, the sight of the sea not making this any less uncomfortable or scary, and thus a whole choir trio of torment was formed.

Sunk into my seat, the white noise soon became the worst of them, since every other minute, I believed to hear words among the hum, words whose meanings were impossible to grasp but dangerously tempting to guess.

The relief I’d experienced in the Bowl of Bones became short-lived. Maybe I was getting paranoid, never able to trust my own mind again, with or without whispers and silent stone. But I knew that already, didn’t I? No one could fix me, but I’d have to find a way to deal with that, as always.

The Maven from two months ago would’ve started to analyze, to scheme, to machinate already: I would’ve found out as much as possible about those around me and used it to my advantage. Mother had taught me, and I’d done my best to internalize her instructions. But it was never enough. How could it? She was a whisper, compared to her I remained a mere human, barely above a Red in ability, and she’d remind me frequently the difference between Red and Silver lied as much in attitude as ability, so I had to make the best of it and excel at the former.

I did what I was taught: I watched. Three guards surrounded me, an Arven silencer, a Newblood nymph from the Scarlet Guard, and a burner, distant Calore cousin. The flaws of this set-up were obvious – these three had been chosen for their abilities which were able to neutralize mine. But this way, my other strengths – if I might say so at the moment – were underestimated. It was too easy to figure out what to say, how to prod and tempt them.

Was the nymph truly Monfortan, or her uniform a fraud to confuse me? Did her country and the Scarlet Guard know about me, and could they accept the deceptions and sour compromises enabling my survival?

Did the silencer resent me, blaming me and not Mare or the Samos, for the deaths of his relatives?

And was my cousin Cornelia really supporting Cal’s abdication? Or would she be more than happy to conspire to reclaim the throne with me?

And why did they, whoever _they_ who kept me alive were, even risk that – bringing in more people? They could’ve put Cal and me alone in the cabin, letting us confront each other so our flames would meet, neutralizing each other.

But on the other hand, the heat of that discussion might’ve carried too much risk, so much the Calore brothers might’ve taken this plane off the sky to drop us into the dark sea. Maybe for once, Cal had been bright enough to figure that out from the start, unlike me, or he simply procrastinated facing me as long as possible.

I would be ready for all of that options. Fearless. But not now. Now, I was too tired for any of that, and all I could do deal with myself was to rest, hoping to sleep off the week in the Bowl of Bones.

* * *

**The humidity soaked** everything on the island of Tuck. It dwelled in the wet ground, muddying every path, it saturated the air with heavy, cold fog, and the noise of the violent sea just topped the dread of this place. I buried my chin in my shawl and coat and hugged myself, as good as possible with manacles. I stepped into the soppy sand, although I hated the way it sullied my shoes. All of it was disgusting and I’d never planned to come here again. But despite its ugly weather, the island had a draw. Not only for the courtesy call to Mother’s grave I was to make. I stood on the despicable beach and stared at the relentless waves of the sea, mighty surges that could swallow me easily. I didn’t want that, but I liked to imagine – to tell myself how close the end might be, to play with the danger. Like a warning to myself. I often did this, yet I knew a part of me just liked staring into an abyss, as if that helped me understand the abyss I called “myself”.

The guards shuffled behind me, growing impatient. A small joy, one I gladly prolonged. Soon they started to cough, as if I was too stupid to get a hint when I only enjoyed playing petty games, one of the few joys I’d left.

Before I could give in and turn around, Cornelia came for me, luring me with a faint warm breeze I couldn’t withstand. But as I shifted my stance, the air had cleared and I saw more of the island and its airfield and hangar. It stopped my silly notion of distracting myself from the reality: I _was_ a prisoner of the Scarlet Guard and its Monfortan allies who had claimed this island for themselves before ever I came here, and they were back at showing their flags.

Bile rose in my throat and desperation won me over. It urged me to turn this into a scene. I hissed and cursed, stepping away from the guards who only side-stepped into a new formation to surround me. Suddenly, the maw of the ocean became tempting again, the wet death preferable to the humiliation and taunts of a public trial and execution staged by Red rats. The nymph bitches of the Lakelands would be glad, although they’d never learn of it.

The guards were hesitating to touch me, but they didn’t leave me the option of fatal escape via drowning – the Newblood nymph was in her element and Arven lowered his silence over me, though hardly with an intensity I couldn’t suffer; I just gritted my teeth. Cornelia, finally, made a move at me, despite being the least effective in subduing me.

I stared at the flamemaker bracelets on her wrists, wishing to catch one of its sparks, to start a fire, even when that was hardly possible with an Arven present. I cackled, imaging _he_ would plunge into the sea, like Mare had gotten rid of Rane Arven in the Bowl of Bones. Even with barely two months of training, she’d been a better fighter than I ever was –

I shivered, despite the new heat wave Cornelia sent my way. I heard a crack, and too late I noticed it wasn’t shiver at all, but a shock of sparks. I spun, aimlessly hoping I could use them when they’d already found their way into the ground.

Before I could look up, I was grabbed by the shoulder. The touch startled me, but its shock was gone when I recognized the man who caused it, the white-haired electricon, Tyton.

“What’s going on here?” he growled, sourly as ever. I didn’t listen to the incompetent stutter of my guards, my eyes fixed on Tyton. Not Mare, then. But if he, a Monfortan, knew about me, I was as good as dead. His eyes met mine, and he didn’t need to say more, not for my sake: The time for hesitation was over, and we’d soon start another show.

* * *

**The nymph led** the way. As a Scarlet guard member, she knew the place best. Arven was the rear, the electricon walked next to me. I watched him unabashedly, in a way that would make looking away more suspicious. But I also wanted to watch him, for another reason than mere caution. The wind lifted his bleached bangs, revealing his dark eyes that sparkled whenever the dim light fell on his face.

Despite the danger and gloom he exuded, he reminded me of Thomas. It wasn’t his looks, although there was a kind of resemblance. But Thomas’s skin had been a few shades darker, his features rather south than east Asian, as Tyton’s were. Tyton was athletic and lean where Thomas had been chubby. No, the resemblance was subtler, there was something about his demeanour and expression that woke foggy memories buried beneath Mother’s manipulations. I’d thought them lost, those ephemeral images of Thomas’s smile and the seconds before and after it, when his dread returned, a fear I hadn’t been able to erase nor even understand, combined with a sense for injustice. Thomas might’ve become a rebel one day, a man ready to destroy someone like me, and I wouldn’t have been able to stop him. And yet he’d seen hope – in me.

When I met Mare, she’d reminded me of him, of the same blend of resignation and dreams. And I encountered, or believed so, the same in Tyton. They weren’t brave for the sake of it but because they were unable to forget what a cesspit this world was. But unlike them, Tyton would never make the mistake of trusting me, and I liked that as well. Because it enabled me to hide one less layer of my fractured self.

Candour. Another thing I cherished in Thomas.

“Are you trying to set me on fire with those stares?” Tyton scowled.

I looked aside as if it meant nothing, catching the sight of a lone person standing in a courtyard cemetery. “That’d hardly work, don’t worry,” I said, shaking my manacles. He _hmph_ ed, his gaze gliding from the cemetery back towards our destination.

“But what about you?” asked I. “Can I be certain you won’t electrocute me before we’ve met my brother?”

He stopped, glaring at me with a dark eye. I stared back, almost waiting for another gust to reveal his other eye and his complete expression. It didn’t come. “No need,” said he, “Calore’s already arrived.”

As if I wasn’t a Calore as well, how charming. But indeed, Cal stood recognizable in the shadow of a building, wearing a simple coat like mine, having shed his regalia. The corners of my mouths went up. He might be content with a commoner’s garb, but I missed my old wardrobe. It’d done so much for my image. Now I could only straighten my posture and walk with my head held high as I devoured every twitch in my brother’s stunned face.

* * *

**The mausoleum stood** in the dim path between two buildings, only seeing the light – if it ever found the way to misty Tuck – on certain days, at limited times. I had a Haven calculate the dates for me, and he’d demonstrated how it’d look then. I’d nodded and I had the statue shipped and installed in this spot, chosen carefully. I avoided this place, her grave. She had it all to her own, as a queen’s due, although not as one expected.

Since I’d had the secret service clear and claim Tuck in my name a year before, I’d visited the place only once to pay my respect to Mother’s body, but today was my first time to see her grave in completion. Light marble inlaid with lapis lazuli rose from the high pedestal that stored her bones. A statue was enthroned on it, the Lady Justice with the sword and the scale. Mother had liked the allegory, always laughing at her blindfold. Of course, one would hardly impede _her_. Elara Merandus owned the truth and she made the law and I had to commission _something_ for her grave while her death had filled me with a void. I’d had no idea how else to describe her life apart from a myth she’d mentioned a few times. But I did my duty, as a year before. I fell on my knees in front of her.

Cal ogled me, disbelieving. “What … ” he stuttered. “What is this … monstrosity?”

I rose and turned to him. “Have you never heard? I conquered the island, and built Mother an appropriate grave. Or,” I sneered, “do you mean me?”

He swallowed and went a step backwards. “I didn’t – “

“Didn’t want me dead?” I said. “Or alive?”

He shook his head and it was exactly like on that other island, or on his throne in Harbor Bay. He had no idea what to do with me. I waited, gave him a chance.

But he did the same. I sighed. “If you have nothing to say, Cal, then this has no point. If you excuse me, I have something better to do.” I walked past him, almost colliding into the guards, and thus implied them to lead me away. They had to have order, didn’t they? They had to know –

“Stop,” Cal commanded and although my guards formed a wall I couldn’t cross, although all of this was merely symbolic, Tyton grabbed my arm and pulled me around. He didn’t let go and I thought I could smell his electricity as Cal approached me. Heat clouded him as always, and while his temperature increased, my bravado waned. This was it, then? He’d finish what Iris, Mare, Julian – so many – had failed to do?

His bronze eyes seemed sad, if he was willing to give me that. I didn’t know what to do with his “compassion”. I wanted to see his hate when he killed me, not his fake pity that was more likely disappointment, over the brother he wished for that I wasn’t. I wouldn’t never give him that, wouldn’t care about him –

“Tyton,” he said, nothing else. Yet the electricon had to know what he meant; I saw sparks in confirmation. Not by Mare’s hand, but I’d still die like my mother, and be buried next to her if I did nothing.

“So Julian had lied,” I whispered.

Cal frowned. “One thing, Maven,” said he. “Why is there no space for you?”

I laughed. Despite the morbidity, I had to. “Finally you understand, Cal? That I’m always lying?”

He winced and waved a hand and Tyton’s sparks and current vanished back into his body before he let go of me, obviously not very willing.

Cal cleared his throat and suddenly patted my shoulder, in the most strange, intimate manner. “Then, Maven, I’ll wait for you to tell us the truth.”

I cackled again, as if I knew anything about the truth when I didn’t know myself.

* * *

_**A/N:** Let me be honest, I don’t know whether I’ll continue this. This story is extremely hard for me to write and it eats up the time I’d like to spent with other projects. I know I said this would work in tandem with Paradise Refracted, the evane story. but exactly this combination only slows down my writing process, since Dark and Bright, despite my interest in Maven, lacks the kind of inspiration I have for other stories. I hope you’ve enjoyed this chapter though and maybe, I’ll get back to it one day._


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